


Yours, Body and Soul

by Thirsty_Baby



Category: Wuthering Heights (TV 2009), Wuthering Heights - All Media Types, Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Memories, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28059129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirsty_Baby/pseuds/Thirsty_Baby
Summary: Cathy loved Heathcliff.Yet Cathy also loved her father, she loved Nelly, when the woman wouldn’t get on her nerves, and she loved herself, of course. But no love could compare to the love she held for Heathcliff.He was like the wind in the moors, like a too hot summers night, like a walk in the woods before the rain. Heathcliff was everything, and everything was Heathcliff.(My take on a non-existent sex scene between Cathy and Heathcliff)
Relationships: Catherine Earnshaw/Heathcliff, Catherine/Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights)
Kudos: 13





	Yours, Body and Soul

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh Tom Hardy as Heathcliff and Charlotte Riley as Cathy make my p*ssy throb. Yeah.

Love wasn’t ever supposed to be easy. No, in all honesty, love couldn’t ever be easy. For how can be loving someone mortal, someone so prone to death be easy? Love is overwhelming, and sometimes painful. Love is brutal, it takes you by force, it crushes your spine, grinds you into dirt, love leaves you feeling empty at some points. There is little beauty in love, for we humans are so prone to change. One moment you believe two souls are tied together, but the very next moment the sweet kiss of bitter lips might carry away a part of yours leaving you hollow for all eternity. 

Cathy loved Heathcliff.

Yet Cathy also loved her father, she loved Nelly, when the woman wouldn’t get on her nerves, she loved herself, of course. But no love could compare to the love she held for Heathcliff. 

He was like the wind in the moors, like a too hot summers night, like a walk in the woods before the rain. Heathcliff was everything, and everything was Heathcliff. 

Not only was he her childhood sweetheart, her companion, someone who understood her every single thought, feeling or word, he was also the epitome of her personal beauty. 

Heathcliff changed, and she changed with him. Changed how she looked at him, how she felt about his voice, about his hands, about his hair, about him. During childhood he was her happiness, her safety... Now he left her feeling confused and wound up and too hot, his every gaze left her wanting more, more, more.

His fingers were always rough, demanding and so, so warm. It’s like his blood was always scorching hot, running through his veins, his heartbeat steady and loud and his lips rosy, plump, inviting, made for kissing. 

Cathy loved him. Cathy loved him far more than it was normal for a proper lady her age. His touch made her feel things she wasn’t supposed to feel, made her skin burn up, and a hot, sweet, honey like feeling roll down her body till it rested somewhere deep inside her, aching and begging to be sated. 

Edgar couldn’t compare to Heathcliff even if he’d try for a million years. Edgar was all the things Heathcliff was not. 

Edgar was kind, compassionate, forgiving, shy in his touches and understanding. If Cathy didn’t know better, she’d think Edgar was actually a woman in trousers. 

She wished to love Edgar. Loving Edgar would be easy, because there wouldn’t actually be any love involved. Edgar wouldn’t throw her against the wall when he was angry. Edgar push her onto the hayloft late at night, Edgar wouldn’t leave her wanting more, teasing. Edgar was a good man, but…

She could still remember that evening, that night. 

Heathcliff’s face was lit by the dim candle light, as she stared at him across the room, blind to the guests her father invited, blind to the men that fancied her. She only had eyes for him. They both were drunk, her cheeks glowing, his eyes darker than usual. He watched her closely, eyes raking over her curves, her hands that fidgeted with the hem of her bodice, till his patience snapped. 

He strode over, towering above her, whispering words that made her knees go weak with anticipation. She followed him immediately, reaching for his hand. The music and the loud noises of their guests singing and dancing hollered through the halls, as he lead her to the barn, impatient and demanding as always. He pushed her onto the hayloft, tugging off his coat, fell on top of her, roughly opening his legs and pushed up her skirts. God, she felt him, all of him his breath on her neck as he kissed every single inch of her skin. Every single inch of her being seemed to burn up, anticipating something she couldn’t even begin to explain. Heathcliff ripped her bodice open, his fingertips grazing her bare skin, playing with her nipples, hardened from the coolness of the air, as she tried to choke back the moans that threatened to become too loud. 

„Shh, my love,“ he muttered hoarsely in her ear, his lips kissing the oh so sensitive spot beneath her lobe, „you’ve gotta be quiet so I can make you mine.“ 

She enveloped him, all arms and legs, burying her fingers in his hair, tugging at the soft, silky strands, while she felt her body melt from his movements, from the way his body pressed her into the hay, like she was his property. 

„I’m already yours, my love, I always was, and forever will be,“ Cathy moaned in his ear, desperate for more. „But make me yours again, make me yours, make me, make me…“

She felt him push her skirts up further, felt his sigh against her skin when his bare flesh slid against the unbearable wetness that dripped down, felt him mutter her name and then felt a sting of pain as he entered her. 

Nothing could’ve prepared her for that feeling, as Heathcliff entered her with a gentleness she never would’ve expected of him. He carefully moved his hips, till there was no space left to fill, head spinning from the feeling of him, him! for devil’s sake, inside his Cathy, his cock already leaking from the mere thought of the sweet violation he inflicted upon her. The man groaned, and rested his forehead in that soft spot where her neck met her shoulder, his hand gripping her thighs as he tried not to crush her with his weight. 

Cathy felt him kiss her lips, but no thoughts lasted, her head empty and eyes unfocused, as she was turned into a woman. 

The feeling of pain subsided almost as quick as it began, and she felt a pleasure she’s never felt before. 

Before, whenever Heathcliff kissed down her neck, or fondled her breast, allowed his hands to roam freely upon her body, she felt a longing, an aching, it was as if he only teased her, never sated her. 

But now… It was as if the hollow emptiness inside her was finally filled to the brim, her opening stretching to accommodate him, and she needed more than ever. 

„Heathcliff, my love, my soul, my life,“ she tugged at the dark strand in-between her fingers, kissed those plush lips, her hips moving on her own accord. „Please…“

He smiled at her, no, it was a grin with his eyes half-lidded and the devil himself dancing in his dark eyes, as he observed her, his heartbeat rapid, but his movements frozen. She always suspected he found a pleasure in her misery, or at least liked to inflict some sort of pain onto her. She still remembered Nelly’s words, clear as day, as she spoke; ‚He’s a bad man, Miss, be careful with him. He’s got the devil in his soul.’ Cathy refused to believe her.

But when Heathcliff moved, all of the sudden, slamming right back into her body, as he bit her neck, his teeth chaffing her skin… that’s when Cathy believed the old maid. 

He was rough, all gentleness forgotten. He forced her to accommodate him, her virgin opening dripping, pulsing for release. 

„Heathcliff!“ She cried out, whimpering and moaning and shaking, unable to conceal the lewd moans that spilled from her puffy, kiss-redden lips. 

Nothing has ever felt as good in her life, not her childish fumbling at night in her bed, as she reminiscent their daily naughtiness, or the times he almost went as far as undressing her, out there in the moors, ripping all her clothes off and ready to claim her. 

Something was forming in her lower belly, something glowing, and hot and sticky, a knot, something that had to burst, she needed the release only Heathcliff could give her. 

He seemed to be as lost in the feeling as her, as his hair hung down swaying with each thrust, kissing her like a madman.

A few thrusts later, and he choked on a groan, as he spilled inside her, his shaft pulsing, painting her walls white with his seed. Nothing in his miserable life could compare to that moment. She was his, claimed, almost animalistically on the hayloft, claimed as his forever. 

The foreign feeling of his seed spilling was enough for Cathy to release. She grasped at his shoulders and bit into his shirt, her eyes shut close as she sobbed, overwhelmed but sated. 

They couldn’t move, neither of them, for a good while. She couldn’t let him go, even if Archangel Michael was to step forward and demand for her to unclasp her fingers from his shirt. Heathcliff’s eyes were closed, his breathing uneven, he seemed breathless, but the slight smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, told her this had been incredible for the both of them. 

Afterwards the dressed, giggling and kissing, and she couldn’t help but notice his heavy gaze as he watched his release drip down her thighs. 

They dodged a bullet - Cathy didn’t bear his child. Although sometimes she wished she would’ve. That would’ve been the happiest child in all of England, with dark curly hair, his mothers eyes and his fathers smile, living in a home full of love, laughter and happiness, for its parents would’ve been madly in love with each other. 

Cathy shook her head, raising her eyes from her book, which she had been aimlessly flipping through, while she remembers her past. 

Edgar snored beside her, blissfully unaware of the aching feelings his wife felt, while she indulged in thoughts of another man. The man he hated, but the man she would love forever.

Carefully, as to not wake the peacefully sleeping Edgar, his wife slid out of the bed, her dainty feet silently stepping to the window. She wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, once again. How could she? 

When the moors called to her, keeping her awake, reviving her memories of Heathcliff, of her childhood and her youth, of the careless days of the past, telling her over and over again, she was his… body and soul.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u liked it


End file.
